Forgotten Dream
by willfulserenity
Summary: When the gods interfere, there is nowhere you can run. In a parallel universe, Alanna is seventeen years old and in disgrace. On her way to the hated City of the Gods, Alanna finds her fate once more disrupted...
1. Prologue

A/N: My apologies, fair people of . Yes, this is a story that was formerly posted under the pen name Senbazuru. Unfortunately, I was unable to write for quite some time (seven years or so), and have since forgotten the login information to my old account. Thus, this is being reposted under a new name so I can continue adding chapters. I have contacted the support team and I have asked them to delete my old account(s) so I can have my conscience free from this seeming duplicity.

Eh, we'll see if it works...

So, once again, for the pleasure of the community, I give you...the prologue.

* * *

**Forgotten Dream**  
by willfulserenity

Prologue

_Have you ever heard of parallel universes? Parallel universes are made up of all the decisions we don't make. If I were to have a choice between eating a chocolate ice cream cone or a vanilla ice cream cone, I would probably eat the chocolate one. So what happens to the vanilla cone? What if I did eat it after all?_

_It isn't every day that you discover that there are different worlds. But have you ever thought of what that other world would be like? I'm sure the other world can be fun, but it has just as many errors as the world we live in now._

_My name is Alanna…Alanna of Trebond. You may know me as the first Lady Knight, as the girl who cleverly disguised herself as a boy in order to become a page. The girl who defied the regulations and standards of the land and pretty much tossed them back in the king's face. Well, that's me in my parallel universe. _

_Who am I?_

_I am Alanna of Trebond, the girl who tried to become a knight, but was discovered and sent back. The girl who tried to run away with a Shang warrior, but was caught. The girl who my father tried to send to the convent, but escaped. _

_This is my true story, the unabridged version from my very own lips. It may not be as exciting as you wish, or as monotonous as you'd expect. You may ask "Well, what can she do if she's not getting married to some decrepit gap-toothed man, associating with princes, or acting as bouncer for the Dancing Dung?" Hm? It's not called the Dancing Dung? Well, whatever you call it... _

_Ask no more, for I am about to tell you a tale that has long been shunned. A tale that has been mocked from here to the ends of the earth. _

_A forgotten dream._


	2. Chapter 1

**Forgotten Dream**_  
_by willfulserenity

-«-_  
I was a young woman, full of vivacious ideas and mischief. There was nothing I wanted more than to join my brother in battle against the evil foes of my country, (thus gaining honor and glory, of course). I didn't want to go to the convent only to be given away, against my will, to some doddering old man who drooled over his morning porridge. I wanted, for once, to be treated as an equal; and not like I was a side of prime beef, only sold to the highest bidder. There were so many better things to do with life. Like, for instance, trying to escape…  
_-«-

Sunlight poured into the small valley in streams of molten gold, gilding the tips of the tall pines in the fiery glow of the afternoon. Craggy ridges of dilapidated mountain dipped down to smooth and form the tiny basin…the disregarded fief of Trebond. A village of minuscule proportions spread haphazardly throughout the valley; houses built wherever possible, farms produced on strips of leveled land, shops and tinkers settling themselves in on any noticeable space. The winding main road, having been built after the village, threaded its way through the village in curvaceous snake-like patterns.

Several centuries had passed and several kings had died, but in the latter days Trebond had been well known for its fine weapon designs, textiles, and other useful goods that had been sold and carted to Corus, Tortall's powerful capital. In those days, the Trebond name had been associated with courageous knights, influential lords, and haunting amethyst eyes. Yes, those eyes had been legendary.

Now, however, Trebond was more likely to be associated with…erm…nothing.

In the shadows of an overhanging oak, a slim girl stared bleakly into the depths of the forest that surrounded a small clearing. Sunlight glinted fleetingly against her red hair as she moved slightly, reaching listlessly for an arrow. Her lavender eyes closed wearily and a small sigh escaped her lips as she drew the shaft back on the string.

A twig snapped beyond the small cluster of pines. The young woman's head jerked up and the bow twanged. The arrow whistled shrilly into the bushes…soon followed by a cry of pain.

Alanna of Trebond cursed loudly and notched another arrow to the bow. Her strange eyes seemed almost to glow with frustration as she strode into the underbrush. A man lay on the ground, whimpering as he tried to keep his weight off of his backside, where an arrow was lodged. She ignored his wound and leaned forward, grabbing a fistful of the man's tunic and jerking him to his knees. He sobbed unhappily and struggled to free himself from her gloved hand. Alanna's icy glare silenced him immediately.

"What are you doing here?" she growled.

"P–please don't kill m–me!"

"Damn it all, man! D'you honestly think I'm going to kill you?" snapped Alanna. "If I was going to kill you, I wouldn't have missed!"

The peasants could be so stupid sometimes. It wasn't as if Alanna habitually shot her countrymen every day.

The man tried to wrench himself away again and this time Alanna let him go, watching as the peasant lurched to his feet and stumbled painfully away. The crashing faded into silence as Alanna stood still, fingering her bow and frowning darkly at the bruised plants that marked the peasant's exit.

That was not the first time she had found someone lurking in her private archery ground. She had claimed the small clearing as her own when she was a little girl and everyone knew better than to intrude upon her when she was practicing. _Especially_ when she was practicing. And today it was even more important that people stay away from her. Her temper had been near uncontrollable since the previous night's escapade.

"Alanna."

She spun around quickly, another arrow notched to her bow in readiness, violet eyes narrowed. The intruder lifted large hands, stepping back carefully. "Now, now, lass. What 'ave I told you 'bout pointing weapons at people? 'Don't point unless you mean to kill someone.'"

"And what if I am?"

He ignored her. "And shootin' that man was not in your best interests, if yeh want t' avoid going to the convent. Shootin' him wasn't the best idea anyway, convent or no."

"I've had enough of these trespassers, Coram." Alanna slowly lowered her bow, her eyes fixed on the sergeant-at-arms' face. "Why did you send him anyway? Half of the fief is afraid of me."

It was true. The commoners were afraid of Lord Alan's children. Thom and Alanna's red hair and purple eyes were too different from everyone else. It had been easier to deal with the twins when they were little children, wide-eyed and quiet. But when Thom had left for the palace to become a knight, Alanna had learned how to fight — and she liked fighting. Noblewomen were supposed to be quiet and demure, to like dancing, needlework, and flirtations. Alanna liked swords and archery, and her quick temper made her anything but demure. She seemed to be more demon than human. No _normal_ noblewoman would do stuff like that.

Coram shrugged. "I sent him t' keep an eye on you. And nobody is all that afraid—"

"They just make the sign against evil when they see me, that's all," said Alanna sarcastically.

"Shootin' 'em doesn't help that much."

Alanna lifted her chin defiantly at the guard. "I wasn't even aiming at him," she retorted, "seeing as I didn't even know he was there." She shifted her shoulder slightly to ease the weight of the quiver. "Was there some special reason I needed watching today?"

Coram rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. "It was t' keep yeh from doing anythin' stupid. But I see there's no way of stoppin' that." Alanna clenched her fists and opened her mouth to retort, but he interrupted her. "Besides, I didn't want yeh to try runnin' away again."

"I wasn't running away!" Alanna snapped. "I was…" Her voice trailed away as she searched for the right words.

"_Runnin' away_," Coram said firmly. "Be reasonable, Alanna."

"Reasonable?" Alanna repeated slowly. Her eyes flashed. "Was it _reasonable_ when you had me beaten, knocked unconscious, and dragged home by ten guards? You call that _reasonable_, Coram?"

"Erm…"

A strained silence fell between the two as each thought of the previous night's incident. The night had been cool and dark, the new moon a black void in the sky. The last Shang warrior staying in Trebond had set off with his small apprentice, his course keyed for the Yamani islands. Of course, the moment a servant had found the old Shang master's apprentice bound and gagged in the stable, it was only a matter of moments before the fief discovered that the lord's daughter was missing.

Alanna had been a mile down the road before the guards caught up with them. It had taken ten guards to convince the doddering martial arts master that a) he was not being attacked by Scanrans, b) his apprentice was not who he thought it was, and c) "stop fighting, you damn fool!" In the end, Alanna and the Shang had managed to knock out six guards and the remaining four had thumped Alanna into a peacefully unconscious submission.

Needless to say, Lord Alan was _not_ happy.

Coram shrugged uncomfortably. "You fought, so they defended themselves. I told 'em to knock y'out if yeh became too hard t' manage."

"Well they did a very good job," said Alanna bitterly.

"Hostility will get you nowhere, my lady."

The two turned to see the chief healer of Trebond – also one-time nursemaid to Lord Alan's children – brushing twigs and leaves from her skirts. The woman straitened up, disapproval in every line of her face as she gazed, thin-lipped, at her charge.

"Those breeches are indecent, Alanna. The Goddess knows that you'd have a better chance at an enjoyable life if you would simply acknowledge the fact that you are, and always will be, a lady of high degree." The healer held up an arrow that looked suspiciously familiar. "At least, you _could_ be a fine lady if you'd only stop shooting your countrymen every time they try to say hello."

The sarcasm was not lost on the lord's daughter. "Might I remind you, Maude, that it is typical for most humans to greet one to their face, and not their backside?"

Coram could not stop the grin from spreading across his face. "Aye, and a fine greeting yeh gave him, lass."

Maude pocketed the arrow with a sigh. "Your father wishes to speak with you, my lady. In the library."

"Where else would he be?" muttered Alanna. She glanced around the clearing quickly. "I have to gather my arrows and oil my bowstring –"

"One of the servants will do that for you," said Maude firmly. Alanna gave her a deprecating glance and set off at a reluctant run towards the castle of Trebond. Coram watched the girl disappear around a bend in the trail and shook his head.

"I'm startin' to regret teachin' that girl archery."

"_Starting_?" Maude interrupted snappishly. "You dolt, I've been regretting it every day for the past seven years! If it hadn't been for your teaching, she might have turned out to be a normal young lady."

"A normal, _empty-headed_ young lady like the rest of 'em at that convent of yers," Coram countered.

Her expression turned slightly rueful. "There would be fewer injuries, anyway…"

"All I've done is wake up some of her skills, that's all. 'Sides, it's as the saying goes: yeh can feed a donkey cake, but it won't change the fact that the creature's a donkey."

Maude's lips twitched. "So you think she's an ass?"

"Shut yer mouth, woman."

-«-_  
_

The lord of Trebond was a slight man, with greying brown hair and serious grey eyes. His face held tinges of former good looks, looks that had pretty much worn away after the death of his beloved wife. Having always been a scholarly man, he threw himself into the working of his fief with fierce dedication. It gave him an excuse to ignore the two small children who had so frighteningly begun to resemble their mother.

Alanna especially looked like his dear wife. Her long, richly red hair and those flashing amethyst eyes… Alianne had had blue eyes, but the shape of Alanna's eyes well matched her mother's.

That was another thing. Lord Alan frowned pensively. The twins had purple eyes. That colour had not sprung up in the past nine generations. Lord Terence of Trebond had them, and so had Neviah of Davan, Lord Terence's great-aunt…the crazy one, of course...

Lord Alan raised his eyes to glance at the door and then lowered them down to the letter before him. Alanna was late. Punctuality was important – vital in running a fief smoothly. Hopefully one of the twins would understand this concept while he still lived.

The door opened, admitting a breathless – and muddy – Alanna. She stood before him and bowed stiffly. Lord Alan fastened his eyes on the letter on his desk and acknowledged her presence with a curt nod.

"Lady Alanna," Lord Alan murmured, his voice as dry as ever. "How kind of you to deem my presence worthy enough to arrive promptly."

She was silent. It didn't matter if she was late or not. The oncoming lecture was sure to be unchanged.

"The reply from the temple arrived today," her father began, sliding the missive across the desk to her. "The First Daughter agreed to take you on, despite her misgivings. I have paid them a sufficient amount to keep you in the convent for one year. One year, Alanna, should be enough to fashion you into something faintly resembling a noblewoman of decent heritage. You will be able to enter court society at the normal age: eighteen."

Alanna was silent for a moment. Her father simply folded his hands and watched her, waiting for the outburst that was bound to happen. She did not keep him waiting long.

"With all due respect, Father," Alanna started, "I'd much rather stay here, where I might be of some help to our fief."

Lord Alan was pleasantly surprised. A diplomatic answer. How nice. "You will be of greatest use in court, Lady Alanna," he replied. "Finding a husband —"

"And keeping out of your way," Alanna finished. Her eyes flashed. "There are other ways of making a living than just marriage."

"Give me an example," Lord Alan challenged. When his daughter was silent, he continued. "You want to become a knight. You've always wanted that. Well, that's impossible, for more than one reason. For one, knighthood is reserved solely for men. Women are too weak, physically and emotionally, to deal with the troubles of war." He paused to sip from his goblet of mulled wine. "Secondly, you do not display the stability that becomes knights. You lose your temper far too often, as was displayed this very afternoon."

"That was an accident!" Alanna cried.

He set the goblet down and gazed levelly at his daughter. "Was it? How redeeming of you."

Lord Alan watched his daughter struggle to control her temper. She was so much like her mother… The sudden memory of Alianne's wasting sickness, her hollow eyes, her slow death, flashed to the forefront of his mind. He shook his head slightly to dispel the images and returned to the task at hand, his expression hardening.

"A knight's very existence is made by his skill at weaponry and his chivalrous behavior. A knight would not fumble with a bow and accidentally shoot a commoner. A knight would not then blame the commoner for the incident. I understand that you did both." He paused, then continued, his voice darkening. "And do not even make me mention the shameful events from last night. We are lucky Master Zhue is a very…forgetful man."

So, as he did once before – seven years ago – he coolly dismissed his daughter. "My decision is final. You will go to the City of the Gods and be placed under the care of the First Daughter for one year. I expect you to uphold the Trebond legacy and act according to your station. I will not tolerate any more of your antics. You are a young lady and shall act as such." His voice was flat as he met Alanna's fierce glare. "You are dismissed."

Alanna stood quickly, her chair almost toppling over in her haste. The look she gave her father before she whirled around and strode to the door stung him worse than any arrow. But he managed just the same to say what was needed to be said.

"Alanna."

The young woman paused in the doorway and slowly turned around. Lord Alan met his daughter's eyes and said, slowly and deliberately:

"I don't want to see you again."

Her face burned with suppressed anger and hurt. "Then you won't." She turned abruptly and was gone.


	3. Chapter 2

**Forgotten Dream**_  
_by willfulserenity

_-«-  
So. It was decided. There was no conceivable escape. I was finally going to the convent, to be exiled to a place of giggling, gawking, gagging girls; most of whom were Gifted – something that I most definitely was not. My father was probably more fortunate than even he knew. I was finally going to be put out of his sight…perhaps forever.  
-«-_

"_I don't want to see you again_."

The words still rang in Alanna's ears. She turned her head to gaze out of the carriage window at the thick mist that was descending on the forest pathway. Autumn always brought such mists. The Trebond peasants steadily complained about the dampness of the rolling fog – winters were mild and summers hot, but by the Goddess! Why couldn't they have a decent, refreshing rain rather than the damned fog?

No one was ever satisfied.

Alanna was, perhaps, the only one who found comfort in the autumn mists. Something about the way the air curled and spread like a swirling sea of grey…it calmed her. Yet it was foolish to like the mists. Scanrans, neatly blanketed by the natural cover, could steal up right to the very edge of the fief and raid it with ease. That was why the lord of Trebond always heightened his security during the harvest months. That was also why he had only sent seven guards to accompany his daughter to the City of the Gods.

"_Then you won't_."

She snorted at the memory, feeling a pair of large blue eyes stare timidly at her from the other corner of the carriage. With a sigh, Alanna turned in her seat and stared back at the small child.

Maude had found a spark of the Gift in the tiny girl, so it was determined that the child would be sent to the convent in the City of the Gods to be trained in her talents. In exchange for this honor, the girl had volunteered to act as maidservant to the daughter of Lord Alan.

The child was greatly pitied by the general populace of Trebond.

"Gwyneth," warned Alanna, "your eyes will pop out if you stare any harder."

The child gasped and clapped her hands to her eyes; which had, if possible, grown even larger at Alanna's words. Alanna bit her cheek to keep from grinning and resumed gazing out the window.

Quickly, her urge to smile faded, soon replaced by the morose feeling that had accompanied her ever since her departure. She leaned her forehead against the sill of the door and sighed.

"_Upset, are you?_" Maude had quipped early that morning.

"_My_," she had retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "_How did you ever guess? My father tells me that he never wants to see me again and, adding insult to injury, proceeds to outfit me with an entire wardrobe of purple gowns. You are so observant._"

Maude had pursed her lips grimly and looked back down at her work. "_Don't get snippy with me, Lady Alanna. Goddess knows I've put up with enough of your escapades in the past, that I have. You should be grateful that I'm keeping silent about the leggings that you've smuggled into your trunk_."

Alanna had felt immediately contrite. It really was not Maude's fault that she was being exiled. Maude was simply the chief healer. And it was true that the healer had kept silent about many things that could have, in the past, hastened the trip to the convent. But soon the conversation had turned back to what Maude stubbornly called her destiny.

"_You'll find your place, mistress. It just might take a while."_

"_I_ _know where I belong. I'm skilled with weapons, Maude; even Coram said I was a natural. I ought to be out there fighting some great, evil…thing!_"

Maude had been unimpressed as she ordered Alanna to fetch a bundle of herbs specially prepared for Alanna's journey from the chief healer's room. Alanna had taken one step – just one – and had promptly stumbled into a piece of furniture, ripping an entire section of her new gown. The oaths that flew from her mouth both startled and horrified the older woman.

"_Have caution, Lady! You best show respect towards the gods. They'll not take your swears lightly…_"

Alanna had rounded on the healer, purple eyes blazing. "_Do you even think that they care whether or not I swear at them? Do you even think that they're interested in the pitiful lives of us mortals? Do you? It doesn't really seem like it, does it? I don't think they give a copper whether we mortals live or die, just as long as we thoroughly entertain them while we're at it_."

"_Alanna _–"

"_I've prayed, Maude. Don't think I haven't. It's just that they've never answered my prayers before. They've never helped me. Because," _her words rang with defiance,_ "they - don't - listen_."

"It's true," Alanna muttered to herself, staring blearily at the swells of grey that drifted past the carriage. She twitched her nose uncomfortably, stifling the urge to sneeze. "For all we know, there _are_ no gods."

"I wouldn't exactly go that far," a deep female voice replied. "Sure, it is true that we do not always curry to the favour of every chit that demands an audience. But we _do_ exist, though mortals may often wish otherwise."

Alanna slowly lifted her head, took a deep breath – and sneezed. She sniffed, refusing to look away from the bleak scenery that spun past the window. "So tell me, O wondrously practical one. How do you gods choose those who are deserving enough for answers?"

The Voice sounded cool and unconcerned, yet the underlying power in it made Alanna flinch. "Did it ever occur to you, O wondrously insolent one, that sometimes the answer granted is a negative one?"

"Maybe. I just find it hard to believe that you take everything into account before making your decisions." Alanna turned her head at last and dared look the Voice full in the face.

It was not long before she had to look away. She had seen a simply clad Lady, tall and graceful, with long black hair and vivid green eyes. Eyes that had pierced Alanna to the core of her heart. It was an uncomfortable feeling, having her entire soul laid bare in the matter of one cool glance.

"I believe," murmured the Lady, "that I fully comprehend your situation."

Alanna closed her eyes. Somehow, it seemed easier to talk to the Lady this way. "Okay, so maybe you do understand. But answer me this, if you would. Why? Why was my request refused?"

"Ah, well, that depends upon which request you are asking about." The Lady's voice was rich with amusement; the sound of a hundred sweet, clear bells ringing splendidly in the undertones. "Are you referring to the request where you wanted me to turn you into a man, or the one about making frogs drop out of your brother's mouth every time he opened it to snitch on you?"

Alanna blinked. "You must be the Goddess."

A laugh, melodious and lovely. "Yes, O insolent one, I am."

Alanna forgot her uneasiness about looking at the Goddess and stared intently at the deity. Gwyneth was cradled in the Goddess' lap, looking angelic in her slumber. The child stirred only once, to grasp a handful of the Goddess' emerald gown. The Goddess bent her regal head and gently kissed the child's forehead.

"They are sweet when they're young," the Goddess remarked thoughtfully.

Alanna almost rolled her eyes. "But not when they are older."

"No, not when they're older. When they grow old, they become insolent."

Alanna had the grace to blush. The Goddess smiled gently at her. "You would do well to follow the words of the healer. A little respect is never amiss…but never mind that. It is time we talked, you and I."

"I've never asked for a gods-blessed visit," Alanna informed the deity. "I simply want answers."

"That is a small request and not at all a foolish one, considering what awaits you down this road."

"The convent," Alanna groaned. "I'd rather kiss a dead toad."

The Lady's eyebrows rose, delicately questioning. "That could very well be arranged, if you so wish."

Alanna pointedly ignored the offer. "What I would like to know is simple: Why can't I be a knight?"

The Goddess' amusement faded. "For many reasons. Mostly because your destiny lies elsewhere. We have plans for you, young one. Also, there is a law forbidding female participation in battles. We gods do not like to meddle with the laws of men."

"It's a stupid law," Alanna declared. "There are records of women warriors dating over a hundred years back. What made the king ban them from the battlefield?"

"The last female fighters date back to the reign of King Gregory. His sister was slain in battle while defending him. He was distracted by the loss and a good portion of Tortall was lost to Tusaine that day. As a result, women were ruled out as distracting influences on the king's men and thus, all women were sent home to their families and fiefs." The Goddess looked troubled. "It was for the good of the country."

"Distracting influences on the king's men?" repeated Alanna incredulously. "I have no plans of being distracting. I could have disguised myself. And, anyway, no one would care if I lived or died."

"On the contrary, I can think of at least three people who would be greatly devastated if you died…but that is beside the point. There are more reasons as to why you could never be a knight," said the Goddess. "Physical reasons. Your breasts would have developed; your monthly bleeding would have started; and bathing, indeed, would have been difficult to maneuver without losing cover. It would not have been long before your sex was discovered and you were sent home in disgrace."

"It would have been worth it," stated Alanna flatly. "If I had been sent home in disgrace, I would be marked as unfit for marriage. That alone would have made the attempt worthwhile."

The Goddess' voice was soft. "Are you that opposed to finding love, my daughter?"

"Love?" Alanna scoffed. "My father would have given me in marriage to the wealthiest suitor; most likely the one I hated the most. Marriage has nothing to do with love. And besides, I don't need love."

The Goddess smiled quietly. "You may find otherwise, someday." The slender outline of the deity's body was growing faint. The Lady shifted Gwyneth from her lap to the seat and leaned forward to gently brush Alanna's forehead with a slim hand.

"You have a tough road ahead of you, my daughter. With no mother to guide you and with no friends in reach…I wonder if you are strong enough?"

Alanna met the Goddess' gaze steadily. "Strong enough for what? I fear nothing."

The Goddess was fading fast, her voice a mere whisper that lingered in the coach before the wind caught it and whipped it away. "You are only human, Alanna of Trebond. Nothing more."

And Alanna was once more alone with the sleeping Gwyneth and her own troubled thoughts.

-«-

If being a hero means giving up your life, would you rise to the occasion? Would you be the first one in line, the first to throw yourself at the mercy of a bloody axe aimed for your sovereign's head? Would you be willing to give up your goals, ambitions…everything…to make sure that the ones you love are safe? I often wonder this. Whether I'd be strong enough, I mean. What if I fail, later on, to do my duty? What if I lose all courage and run away?

-_Lady Elisyn of Conté, sister to King Gregory_

-«-

"Matthew?"

The shout sounded uncomfortably close to her ear. She ignored it - and the sudden jerks that shuddered through the carriage's frame as the carriage began to pick up speed. Matthew, the driver, was well known for his liking of ale. Most likely he had drunk a little too much and given the horses free rein.

Her dreams enveloped her again, teasing away her grasp on reality and turning her thoughts once more to the gods. Did she really have that conversation with the Goddess? Maybe that, too, had been a dream. She didn't really care. The fog made her want to sleep and forget.

One of the horses whinnied. There was a strange thud.

"Matthew!"

The cart jolted. Someone cursed. Another thud.

Sleep was obviously not going to be had. Alanna sat up abruptly and angrily scrubbed her eyes. She pushed back the velvety curtain that covered the window.

Had the fog deepened?

Something flashed in, inflicting a stinging blow against her ear as it passed. Alanna quickly let go of the curtain and dropped to the floor. The child was already awake, her blue eyes scared as she slid noiselessly off her seat to join Alanna.

"An arrow," Gwyneth whimpered. "Someone shot it, right there." The child pointed to opposite wall, right where Alanna's head had once been.

Alanna touched her ear. Her hand was wet with blood. "Scanrans."

Outside, they could hear the muffled curses of the guards as they slowed the carriage. A disheveled lieutenant opened the door quickly and grabbed Alanna's arm.

"Lady, get your maidservant and go."

Alanna frowned. "I can't just leave my countrymen."

The guard looked grim as he leaned farther in and pulled a cloth-wrapped package from under the seat. "Scanrans are attacking, milady," he said firmly as he deftly unwrapped the bundle and withdrew a quiver of arrows and a longbow. "You must hide."

"I _know_ that there are Scanrans," Alanna hissed, keeping her voice low. "What are they doing here?"

He smiled thinly. "Trying to kill us, I'd say." He shoved the weapons into her hands.

Alanna stared numbly at the weapons. Her bow. Who had slipped it in there? Had they been expecting an attack?

Another small item fell from the folds of the packing cloth. Complete with leather leg-sheath, the throwing knife was as perfectly crafted as any Alanna had seen before. A gift from Corum? It had to be...but there was no time for sentiment. Wordlessly, she strapped the sheath to her leg and slung the quiver over her shoulder. She could hear the sound of arrows thudding mercilessly against the carriage, and the shouts of the Trebond guards as they retaliated. She bit her lip and turned back to the guard.

"How many are – ?"

The guard was already gone, leaving the door swinging open.

Sighing explosively, Alanna grabbed Gwyneth's arm and carefully slid out of the carriage, whispering instructions to the child. "Trebond is that way; west. Don't go on the road. Stay in the denser parts of the forest. If you have to, use your Gift to protect you."

As soon as they plunged into the forest, Alanna crouched and turned to the child. "If you –" She stopped abruptly. Gwyneth held a glowing ball of crimson fire. It lit up the little girl's face, illuminating the fear in her eyes.

"I can only make fire," Gwyneth whispered, on the verge of tears. "I won't be able to make it to the fief alone. _Please_ –"

Alanna sighed. "Two are more easily seen than one," she explained softly, then smiled. "You can do more than I, Gwyneth. Light one of them on fire, if you can."

The child looked stunned by the thought. "Like a candle?"

"Yes. A great, big, glowing candle. And when you reach Trebond, tell my father about the attack."

The child hesitated. "Aren't you going to the fief, too?"

"I'm going to fight with the guards," said Alanna flatly, drawing an arrow from the quiver. "Now _go_."

The child fled. Alanna took a deep breath and spun towards the fighting. To leave the small group of guards in the middle of an attack would be the height of cowardice. In the run towards the forest, she had seen Matthew's body slumped over and studded with arrows. To imagine the rest of her guards dying to protect her, when she could do nothing to deserve their loyalty, stung her. She finally had a cause to put her skills to use.

Alanna ducked as she ran forward and flattened her form against the side of the carriage. It seemed as though Scanrans were everywhere. There were definitely more than usual for a simple highwayman raid. With the heavy mist shrouding their movements, the bandits were easily taking over. The arrows that rained down upon the carriage's remains would soon slaughter everyone in the area.

Taking a quick, cautious look around the corner, Alanna notched the arrow to her longbow, took careful aim, and fired. The arrow sped silently into the fray, taking a Scanran in the throat just as the man was slashing down at one of Trebond's tired swordsmen. The bandit toppled over soundlessly. T he guard glared at his former opponent's body and dispatched it by swiping off the Scanran's head. Alanna recognized the guard as the lieutenant. Their eyes met – he gave a tight smile and raised his hand in a wry salute.

His wave stopped sluggishly in midair as an arrow took him in the back.

Waves of sickness washed over Alanna as she stumbled back, aghast. Had the guard not seen her, he would have been more alert to the enemies around him. Maybe she was nothing but a burden after all. Maybe staying to fight had only made things worse.

A scream of rage bubbled up in her throat, choking her. She blindly reached for another arrow, scanning the area for a better target. Several Scanrans were beating red flames off their backs, yelling curses… strange; she had not noticed them before. A shadowy form on horseback was gliding among the trees at the far end of the battle. She set her sights on that and fired.

The arrow whistled shrilly as it flew through the air, and the shrouded horseman had little time to react. It slid from the horse and crumpled to the ground.

Everything was suddenly very clear. The dense fog was gone and Alanna could see exactly how many Scanrans – no, not just Scanrans…

But the bloody bodies of her guards were what next caught her eye. There had been little hope for any of them in the beginning, and less hope for them now. Alanna had barely lifted her eyes from the six bodies of her former comrades before the seventh guard, screaming a challenge as he charged a horseman, was slain by a Tusaine officer.

She barely knew what to do, or even if doing anything would much help. As if from afar, she watched herself raise her longbow and fire, killing the murdering Tusaine officer where he stood. Another arrow was notched to the bowstring, another arrow fired. Strong hands grabbed her from behind. She kicked out, and jammed the longbow's length into the attacker's soft flesh. More soldiers closed in.

It happened very swiftly. Somehow, her bow was knocked from her hands, the quiver yanked from her shoulder and tossed away. Her left arm hung useless, throbbing dully with pain, but she could still reach her knife with the right hand. Her hand closed around the haft of the knife and she stabbed blindly.

And then she felt a sharp sting in her side.

For the first time of her life, Alanna felt helpless – helpless and scared. She did not want to die. But her vision was darkening; and the sluggish, roiling pain that was spreading from her side and prickling inwards could only mean one thing: poison.

As her eyes clouded over, the last thing she saw was the face of a Tusaine man, his features distorted with hatred.

"You killed my brother, you stupid whore!" he screamed. The words echoed oddly in her head as her mind slowly misted over. She felt icy cold.

"May the Dark God grant no mercy!"


	4. Chapter 3

**Forgotten Dream**_  
_by willfulserenity

-«-

The atmosphere in the fief of Trebond was heavy with anxiety. An unexpected attack on a lady's carriage, slaughtering all men-at-arms and killing the lady herself? Such brutality was uncommon, even for Scanran raids. Usually, the raiding Scanrans had reasons – good or bad – for their attacks. For instance, only the previous year Scanrans had attacked a tiny, unprotected village fourteen miles northeast of Trebond in the Grimmold Mountains.

It had been an easy target. The village had been thoroughly plundered, once all the opposing villagers had been taken care of. The Scanrans took the livestock and horses, wagonloads of supplies, and all the gold and silver they could find – though there was not much in such a small village.

There had always been a huge problem with Scanran raiders. They were renowned for being consistently dishonorable and greedy – a notoriety that the Scanrans zealously strove to expand. Still, it was confusing as to why they would attack a lady's coach. What was there to gain?

Seeing as they had destroyed the coach itself and burned everything else with magefire…nothing.

Lord Alan was, as usual, quiet when the news of his daughter's death came to him. He stood still for a moment, papers in hand, staring into space. Then he seemed to give himself a shake.

"Her body?"

Coram's voice was unsteady. "Unrecovered."

"Ah."

There fell a long silence between the two. Lord Alan's face was pale, but set. "A burial must be arranged."

Coram was surprised at how well the lord was taking it. "Yes, milord. D'you –"

"Do I _what_?"

"Want to retaliate?"

"No. It's not necessary. Alanna was always reckless." The papers in his hand crackled as he spasmodically tightened his grip into a fist. "No doubt she was meant to end this way." He hesitated and made the sign of the gods on his chest. "The gods know what they are doing."

Corum's big hands clenched. "Forgive me for sayin' so, but you don't seem very sorry about any of this."

It was a bold statement to make, but true. Lord Alan never displayed great amounts of emotion at any time. Yet, one would think he would show some remorse over his daughter's death – even if he had expected her to die so early in life.

Lord Alan's eyes burned. "Sorry?" he repeated hoarsely. His voice turned steely. "No man should have to bury his daughter. I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself. Go to your duties."

Coram bowed stiffly and left the lord alone in the library. The matter was not brought up again. Not with the lord of Trebond, anyway.

The villagers had expected the chief healer to be grieving for many months to come. Maude, however, was as calm as if nothing had ever happened. She steadily wove bandages as Coram paced back and forth in front of her. His face was pale and his eyes red.

"Why?" he exploded suddenly. "Why attack _her_? Why was everythin' burned?"

Maude was silent, focused on weaving. Coram continued, agitated. "There was nothin' to gain. Nothin' at all. Kill a lady? Murder her pathetic little escort? I should've sent more guards. I should've –"

His eyes fell on the silent Maude. "Dammit, woman! Speak! You loved her every bit as much as I did. She's dead now! Have you no feelin'?"

Maude was quiet. She kept her eyes on her hands, steadily weaving away. "The gods know what they are doing, Coram Smythesson."

"The _gods_." He started pacing again. "We all know what Alanna thought of them. Are they angry enough to destroy a little girl just because she 'ad some reasonable doubts?"

Maude finally looked up, her expression stern. "Be silent, Coram!"

He opened his mouth to retort, but she smoothly interrupted. "You remember how, seven years back, I read the fire to determine Alanna's destiny? To see whether or not her plan to become a knight would work?"

Coram's face paled. He hated magic. He nodded shortly.

"Then you must trust me when I say that the gods always have a plan. Perhaps this plan, Coram, goes beyond mere death."

-«-

"Eh…what's this, here?" muttered a gravelly voice. A sharp exclamation of pain soon followed.

"It's a knife, stupid."

The second voice was clear and quiet – a bit sardonic. A brief silence followed, then the gravelly voice spoke again.

"What're we going to with _that_?"

"The girl?" Footsteps neared the place where the body of an auburn-haired girl lay in a crumpled heap. Her pitiful form barely visible in the light of the flickering campfire. A young, dark-haired man stooped to glance coolly at the face of the young woman.

"She may still be alive," he observed.

The other man leapt to his feet. "Then let's off her, quick!" he snarled, brandishing a slim, familiar-looking blade. He rushed forward – only to be tripped by the young noble.

"Leave her be. I may want to chat with her when she awakens."

The first man got up painfully, dusting twigs and dirt from his stained tunic. His ugly face twisted into a feral grin. "You mean –"

The noble curled his lip in disgust. "No, Maurel. Unlike you, I am above such things."

"What's the use of talking? She killed Jacinth. She oughtta be dead."

The noble narrowed his dark eyes at his troublesome companion. "And do you not wonder how she managed to do that? How she managed to penetrate the magical barrier of one of your strongest mages, and kill him…armed with nothing but a simple longbow and the very blade you are holding? And how," he mused, more to himself than the Scanran, "did she still survive?"

"It don't matter how she survived," Maurel argued. "_If_ she survived. Enzo was right when he darted her. The girl oughtta be dead – and t'stay dead."

The noble smiled slightly and resumed his reclined position beside the fire. "_That_ is why I am in charge, Maurel. Not Enzo, not you. Me. It is my decision whether the girl lives or dies. And, at the moment, I want her to live."

A flicker of movement attracted the nobleman's attention. The young woman was moving, her hand reaching up to her face to weakly brush red hair from her eyes.

Then there was a flash of movement. The dark haired noble threw himself forward to block the Scanran's path. A sword seemed to materialize in his fist. "My patience with your moronic displays of rebellion is rapidly dissipating, Maurel."

The Scanran simply stumbled backwards, his eyes fixed on the sword. The noble smiled dryly and saluted mockingly. He sheathed his blade and turned to look at the young woman.

Her red hair fell into her eyes, hiding them as she slowly dragged herself upright. She winced and groaned as her hand accidentally brushed against a bloody gash on her forehead. The young woman swayed where she stood…and crumpled.

An arm steadied her, holding her upright. She forced her eyes open, stifling the pained moan that was desperately trying to escape her lips. The noble helped her into a sitting position and released her.

Dark eyes scoured her face. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she whispered. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths as she tried to remember how she had gotten there…and who she was. She was wearing a dark purple gown – or the remains of it, anyway – that was coated thickly with mud and splattered with rust-brown stains. Blood? She gingerly brushed her fingertips against the half crusted-over wound over her left eyebrow. It would probably leave a scar.

The young woman breathed out, and let her hands fall tiredly to her sides. One hand came in contact with something sharp and pointed. She let her fingers curl around the object and opened her eyes, throwing a wary glance at the two men.

The younger man ignored her, tending to the fire by feeding it branches that had fallen during a recent storm. He was lean and of medium height; a slender man of clearly noble lineage. He wore black breeches and tunic, the ensemble surprisingly plain save for the muted accent of silver in the lining of the tunic.

The other man, however, was quite different. He was short and squat, his gaze fixed on her with surly malevolence. He sneered.

"It don't matter whether you tell your name or not. We already know that you're the daughter of fief Trebond."

Trebond. Her memory returned. She was Alanna of Trebond, misfit daughter to a respectable lord, on her way to the convent to be put away once and for all. And these men had murdered her countrymen –

Wait. Why wasn't _she_ dead?

Alanna cautiously slid a hand behind herself in search of a weapon – anything, really.

"Looking for something?"

The noble's low voice made her jump. He was watching her, a small smile on his face, his dark eyes studying her. "If you are," he said, "it won't work. All your weapons have been confiscated. Your bow was burned with the bodies and your knife has been – shall we say – repossessed."

The Scanran grinned nastily. He waved the dagger in her face. "Too tired to fight now, eh? Why, I'd like to –"

"For heaven's sake, Maurel, will you _shut up_?"

Maurel glowered his hatred at the noble. Alanna felt oddly like laughing. She bit her knuckle to stifle the sound. To laugh now would be a huge mistake, considering the mutinous glares the Scanran was sending.

"You ain't Scanran." seethed Maurel. "You got no charge over me. I can say what I like."

The noble's cold gaze pinned the Scanran where he stood. "You cannot say anything if your tongue is missing."

The Scanran paled and became silent. The noble was a vicious man, for all his quiet demeanor. Alanna inwardly shivered, her thoughts racing.

Her strength was returning. A moment ago, she was barely able to raise her hand. Now she could sit up by herself and was moving more freely every moment. Her balance was back – as well as something else.

Somewhere deep inside – in the very core of her being – a purple fire she had never noticed before was steadily beginning to burn brighter. It flared wildly as it sent tendrils of misty lavender shooting through her veins.

Magic.

_Gods above_, Alanna breathed silently. _I have the Gift?_

-«-

"Your daughter is dead."

"She's dead."

"Like the mother."

"Slain…I saw it myself…"

"Three of them downed her."

"You could see the signs of struggle as clear as anything."

"No body. They must've burned it with everything else."

"She's dead."

Alan of Trebond lowered his head to rest in his hands. He breathed raggedly, the harsh sound filling the stillness of the forest glade. The mound of earth, the burial place of his daughter's charred bow and quiver, was clustered with small bunches of flowers – mementos the villagers had place there in respect to the girl's courage.

"She's dead."

Alanna's former archery ground was now her tomb.

_

* * *

_

_A/N: Well, folks, that's it for all the old chapters. I'm almost finished with the new chapter, too! Do I hear a huzzah in the house? Anyone? Huzzah?  
_

_So if you bother to do any comparison with the old edition (under by old name, Senbazuru), I may as well prepare you: the upcoming fourth chapter is going to be totally different. My writing style, over the past ten years, has undergone a HUGE change. Also, I have totally outlined the plot from here on out, so the direction has slightly altered. But it's definitely all for the win. _

_Oh, and thank you, Whispering Maiden, for the kind first review!_

_Till we chat again!_


	5. Chapter 4

**Forgotten Dream**  
by willfulserenity

-«-

_It had been dragged back to the whole matter of choice. Chocolate or vanilla? Live like a coward or die like a hero? Not that I was much of a hero…but you'll learn more about that later on._  
_The point is that I made a choice. Big or small, I decided where my life was going to go – and where it ended. The gods only knew why I was alive._

-«-

Lightning slashed the sky as thunder roiled in the distance. The chilling rain fell in relentless sheets, soaking the strange band of mercenaries. The already saturated earth churned into a sloppy mud that clung to everything it touched. The general aura of distrust added to the stormy climate. A mud-streaked group of Scanrans slumped under the thick-knit foliage in the depths of the woods, abandoning the supply wagon to the elements as they sought better cover.

"I hear she killed Jacinth," one man said. He wiped the back of a shaking hand across his mouth. "An' armed with naught but a bow and arrow."

"How's she still alive after Enzo darted her is what I want to know. That's outright devilry," another Scanran muttered, glancing furtively at the distant supply wagon. "The sooner we get to Corus, the better."

"Maurel says she killed the Tusaine mage –"

"Good riddance, is what I say!"

The Scanrans laughed harshly, taking the opportunity to let off tension. Their laughter soon dwindled to coughs as the men shifted nearer to the sputtering fire. The faint sounds of the Tusaine mercenaries making camp drew wary looks from the group by the fire. A wizened old man spoke first,

"Damn these wet forests! Tortall's swamps ain't barely worth the trouble." He spat towards the flames, his sharp eyes fixed on the Tusaine camp. "Nor is playing pretty with the Tusaine. They got their own plans..."

The old man abruptly stopped speaking at the approach of a Tusainian guard. The guard surveyed the group with disgust. "It's time to set watch. Stop whining like ladyfolk and send your guardsmen to the watch point." He glanced towards the supply wagon and frowned at the miserable hunched form leaning against it. "Maurel still watching the girl?"

The conditions for guarding the supply wagon were particularly wretched. Maurel barely looked up as the guard approached. He blinked blearily and took a deep draught from the flask in his hand. "Darius."

The guardsman nodded tersely. "Maurel." He lowered his voice. "Any idea on when his high and mighty lordship will be rejoining us?"

"Dunno," Maurel growled. He swiped at the rainwater dripping down his nose. "Don't care, neither. The Tirragen estates can go to rot, for how I see it."

Darius folded his arms. "So I'm to gather you don't like your master knight?"

"He's no master of mine," Maurel argued irritably. "And it ain't no fault of mine that he showed up when he did."

"Why are you still witch-watching then?" Darius smirked.

Maurel dropped his voice. "I gave my best for Jac, but I ain't doing no more until I know Tirragen hasn't left any magic bobbles about to do his business for him. 'Specially what with this meeting and all."

"We all know Tirragen isn't Gifted."

"_He_ maybe ain't Gifted, but we know his precious Duke _is_. Why else d'you think Lord Enzo's in such a fit?"

In the shadowed depths of the wagon, Alanna lay shackled. Her ears strained to catch the quiet conversation, heart beating wildly. The name Tirragen sounded familiar. Perhaps it was someone Thom had mentioned in one of his letters? And who was Enzo? Alanna mused over the information as her eyes traced the seams of the canvas overhead. Her eyes fell on the cloth-bound bundles that filled half the wagon bed. Whatever the murderers were carting around was certainly uncomfortable. Though, at this point, comfort wasn't to be expected. After three days of traveling with little food and few stops, not only had her legs developed painful cramps, but she was becoming increasingly restless.

The worst part, Alanna thought, was the regret. She should have died - she had been ready to die. It had been an easy thing to imagine: battling desperate foes and evil villains, slaying all who resisted with a wave of some enchanted sword before being overwhelmed by sheer numbers. A glorious death; the greatest adventure!

Now that she had tasted death, however...she feared its return. Her dire situation made it clear: the only death that lay down this road was a humiliating, quiet execution.

The many attempts at escaping her captors had only led to bruised pride (among other things). The shackles that had rubbed her wrists and ankles raw had been implemented only the day before, when a special trick she had learned from Master Zhue had earned her an equally special beating.

"It was worth it," she whispered; a vicious smile curving her lips.

But now they were in territory that was unknown to her - far from Trebond's familiar foothills - and travelling fast beside the rushing black waters of a wide river. Alanna felt like she was drowning; anger and confusion filled her mind. She found herself fighting back the touch of fear. _Where were they going? And what did they want with her?_

The dark memory of the noble's hard eyes mocked her. Alanna gritted her teeth and shifted quietly to massage her sore leg muscles. The manacles clinked gently. If they expected her to lie down meekly and accept this fate, they were wrong!

Alanna's attention was jerked back to the conversation outside the wagon as the Tusaine guardsman changed subjects.

"Lord Jemis is also in a black mood," the Tusaine guardsman was saying. "Killed Yaro after all he did was ask about the treaty."

The guardsman sounded bitter. Maurel grunted. "What do I care? Yaro's a fool." He inspected his empty flask. "Not of my concern, anyhow."

"Eh, on a day like this, how could you care about anything?" Darius' tone lightened. "Out in the cold watching a shackled witch-child. This is nasty weather. Why don't you have a mug of ale with your mates?"

The Scanran eyed the guardsman, suddenly suspicious. "What're you trying at?"

Darius shrugged indifferently. "Stay here, then. It's your choice. I, personally, would take what time fate gives me to dry out a bit and enjoy myself before Duke Roger's pet returns." He turned and casually walked away. "_She _isn't going anywhere."

Maurel snorted with laughter, water spraying from his nose. "Aye, that's true enough!" Half drunk already, the Scanran lurched away from the wagon and towards promising glow of the nearest campfire.

Alanna listened in shock to the receding sounds of the drunken Scanran. "That's it?" she muttered dubiously. Honestly. No wonder Tortall remained a world power. She rolled to a sitting position and considered the length of chain that hobbled her feet together. If she could only get her hands free - perhaps the rainwater?

She edged uncomfortably around to face the back of the wagon. Kneeling painfully on her knees and elbows, she inched her way to the back of the wagon. The canvas covering was carelessly sewed shut here and a leak had caused a pool of water to form on the already damp wood. Sweat beaded Alanna's forehead as she wet her hands thoroughly and tried once more to slip them through the cuffs.

The swollen flesh of her wrists made the endeavor especially difficult. She bit her lip fiercely to stifle the grunt of pain and forcibly wrenched one hand free. The wrist bled freely. She ignored it and began working the other one through.

A prickling sensation along her spine - someone was quietly sneaking up to the wagon. Alanna stiffened. Fear clawed at her belly as a sinister whisper reached her ear:

"Alone and unguarded…_perfect_."

-«-

Alexander of Tirragen raised dark eyes to the sky, eyeing the heavy mass of overhanging clouds thoughtfully.

"Milord?" The innkeeper looked worried. "Surely ye aren't plannin' on ridin' in this weather. Even the lakefish are keeping low." Behind the innkeeper, the common room roared with merriment at the antics of a robustly singing farm lad. The hearth fire shone warmly and the savory scent of stew wafted from the kitchens.

Tirragen kept his eyes fixed on the darkening sky. "Is my horse ready?"

"Aye, Sir, it is." Resigned, the innkeeper motioned to the waiting hostler. "Lord Tirragen needs his horse, Jims." Turning back to the knight, the innkeeper shrugged. "The maids will make sure your lordship is well provisioned for the journey."

Tirragen nodded. His mind wandered back the meeting with his former knight master, Duke Roger of Conté. It had not gone well.

"_You're certain, then," Roger said, white-knuckled hands gripping the table's edge. "Absolutely certain?"_

_Tirragen nodded impassively. "Both Lord Enzo and Count Jemis appear to be planning something. Why else would they have gone so far off mark? I questioned them lightly on their motives for such a circuitous route – they, in turn, wanted to know why I was present."_

_Roger leveled a wrathful gaze at his former squire. "You were ordered to be unseen. Dare I ask why you chose to reveal yourself?"_

_Tirragen shrugged lightly. "They attacked the carriage of a noblewoman. Trebond, I believe. They killed her guards and were about to kill her."_

"_And?" Roger snapped sharply._

"_Jacinth, the brother of the Tusaine mage Tomlith, used one of the Maren darts on her."_

_Roger stood abruptly. Orange fire wrapped like a sinuous snake around his body and reflected from his blue eyes. The effect was demonic. "What?" he hissed._

_Tirragen waved his hand tiredly. "The girl survived. She displayed sure signs of having the Gift. The lady might be a powerful ally – just how powerful is the question. To survive the poison," Tirragen murmured, "would almost take a miracle."_

_Duke Roger considered the information, the orange fire slowly sinking back into his skin. His eyes still glowed with rage as he spoke. "And what, pray, happened to the enterprising Jacinth?"_

"_She killed him. Some sort of backlash thing when she was fainting from the nightbloom poison. Interesting, isn't it? I thought I'd step in before they finished her off."_

_Roger tilted his head. "Indeed. Very interesting." The glow of his Gift faded entirely. "However surprised by your actions, I suppose I cannot blame you. I will test her capabilities personally. If she proves to be useless, I'm sure we can find an easy way to dispose of her without any questions."_

"_I'll make sure she's delivered to you in one piece," Tirragen promised._

_The Duke's smile glittered. "Do, please." The smile vanished. "And keep an eye on our friendly allies."_

Lightning danced across the sky, snapping Tirragen from his reverie. He shook his head and accepted his horse's bridle from the groom. The groom, a young copper-haired lad, tugged his forelock and grinned toothily at the knight. Tirragen flipped him a coin and mounted the silver gelding.

"And so," he said softly to himself, nudging the horse into a gallop, "the game continues."

-«-

Alanna's heart felt like it was beating out of her chest. Mind whirling, she took a deep, steadying breath and wrenched her hand out of the last confining manacle.

The scraping sound of a sword being drawn gave away the position of the sinister presence.

"Well, well..."

She twisted around to face the voice. Through the gloom, she could make out that someone had opened the wagon hatch. A dark silhouette stood framed by the evening sky.

"We have a little escape artist here. What a _clever _girl you are!"

Alanna could feel the figure smiling, waves of sinister intent licking up her spine. The figure leaned in, revealing itself to be a man with sand-colored hair and a sickened grin. He reached for her with one large hand.

Alanna scrabbled for something, anything. Her bloodied hands came against one of the cloth-bound bundles. It clinked as she hefted it. Mustering her strength, she hurled the heavy bundle towards the man. He ducked to the side as the clattering cloth package shattered against the side of the wagon. The fabric blotted with green-purple liquid that formed an inky pool.

The man turned back to Alanna, grinning. "You're an amusing kitten, aren't you? Wish I had time to play..." He lunged for her. "...but it's time for you to burn!"

Alanna bit her lip and kicked out hard with both hobbled feet. She screamed inwardly, fighting the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. A memory rose to her mind: a purple flame curled inside. She probed the ball of flame. Was this truly the Gift? Could she possibly...

There was a sudden _whump _and the entire cart erupted in raging purple flames.

Everything happened very quickly after that. Alanna suddenly stopped feeling cold. A pleasant tingle of warmth was thrumming through her veins. She felt her fear drift away on soft clouds, replaced by a feeling of complete power.

And she was completely engulfed by lavender fire. A fire that did not burn.

"OH GODS!"

Her, at least. A fire that did not burn _her_.

Feeling very detached, Alanna watched as her attacker flung himself from the wagon. Frantically, he screamed curses and tried to beat off the fire that burned away at his clothes and flesh. Through the haze of the flames, Alanna could make out the indistinct forms of other mercenaries running towards her. Some of them were shouting for backup.

_Why do they bother? _Alanna wondered comfortably. They shouldn't care if she burned. She was supposed to be dead anyway.

She stared in fascination at her hands, then her arms…then her entire body. The fire had melted the chains that bound her feet. Everything else was completely fine. She felt no pain. If anything, the sensation of the purple fire gently stroking her skin was soothing. Alanna swayed where she stood for a moment – and sank to the ground. A strange feeling of exhaustion seemed to be sinking into her mind. She felt folds of soft black velvet enclose her thoughts, wrapping around her body like a cocoon, gentle and warm...

She closed her eyes dreamily.

"Douse the fire!"

The curt command sliced through her muddled thoughts – quickly followed by an uncomfortable stinging sensation. Cold seeped into her skin. Alanna began to shiver uncontrollably.

Someone jerked her to her feet, their fingers hard and unyielding. Her knees gave way as the voices faded and blackness claimed her mind at last.

* * *

A/N: _I know, I know…another cliffhanger. Sort of. But with the help of my handy flannel graph, we will persevere! __Anything__ is possible with flannel graph!_

_My only concern with this chapter is that my writing style has changed quite a bit…and I miss my old way of writing! But I guess that's what happens when you haven't written much in SEVEN YEARS. _

_Holy. Crap._

_Anyway, let me know what you think. __-waggles eyebrows-_

_Oh, and much love to Lee and Rowanita: you guys gave me the boost I needed to finish this chapter!_

_Till we meet again!_

_~willfulserenity_

_Then look for me by moonlight  
Watch for me by moonlight  
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell  
should bar the way._

"The Highwayman," Alfred Noyes


End file.
